


Take Me As I Am

by PaintedGlass



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Bodyswap, Drunken Shenanigans, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:19:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedGlass/pseuds/PaintedGlass
Summary: Magic and alcohol never mix well, and the Goblin King has both on hand when Sarah chooses to make her own drunken wish. He makes a rash decision to take her, just like she asked him to, but not in the way she expects. The next morning, the pair of them find they have far more than a hangover to contend with.





	1. Take me

“Well if you're going to be such a _baby_ about it then you might as _well_ leave!”

As expected, she received no response other than the roar of Steve's Mercedes as it pulled away into the night. Sarah tossed her head, rolled her eyes, and hooked the straps of her high heels over one finger as she dug through her purse for her keys.

 _Four years_. Four goddamn pointless years she had wasted trying to push and twist her latest relationship into something that at least resembled functional. It wasn't the first time her boyfriend had abandoned one of their arguments in favour of flouncing off instead, but this time she was relatively certain that he wouldn't be coming back. _Good. Fuck him._

She finally managed to blunder her way into her modest home, though she would swear later that the keyhole she had aimed so carefully at had insisted on shifting each time she tried to slide the key home. The shoes ended up littering her hallway floor, as did her purse and the burden of her sexiest black bra as she stumbled her way through to the kitchen. There was a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge that had been calling her name ever since that whole stinking 'date night' had taken a turn.

Steve didn't like it when she drank – it wasn't _ladylike_ when she drank – and so it had made her all the more determined that evening to gulp down as much alcohol as her stomach and liver could handle. She never usually finished more than a glass or two at a time – and even _that_ was a rarity, with how likely Steve was to complain – and she already knew that she would be paying for that night's spiteful session come morning. It was all just so _regressive_. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, as much as she tried to see past the ugly truth, her boyfriend wanted someone who would blindly follow all of his dumb little rules more than he wanted _her_. He would never _truly_ be happy until he had her barefoot and pregnant, content with doing little more with her life than raising his children, and warming his meals and his cock. It was time to stop pretending that she would ever be that woman.

She just didn't understand what it was with the men in her life and their desperate need for control over hers. Her boyfriend, with his old-fashioned ideals, and all the ones that came before him. Her father, and his long lectures over the years about a proper career, and where exactly her life should be headed. It was all of them, the old friends turned bitter when those friendships did not lead to something more; it was the old bosses and the teachers who at times had offered her more condescension than encouragement. Even worse, it was the man who had started it all – the one who had at first demanded, and then _pleaded_ for her obedience, and who still sometimes haunted her dreams.

Sarah groaned as she poured out a generous measure of wine. Thirty years old and she still hadn't managed to leave all of her childhood fixations behind. Her time in the labyrinth – in a realm of fantasy and magic – had opened up her eyes in more ways than one. Yes, there were extraordinary things beyond the dull world she had grown up surrounded by; yes, she could dare to reach out for the life she _wanted_ , rather than the one others wanted for her, bowing to no one's will but her own. Those thoughts were all well and good for a teenager who had yet to take on her first real job, or get her foot on the first rung of the property ladder. Years later, she found herself not quite so optimistic. Sometimes you needed the ordinary work to pay the bills, and the ordinary home and ordinary boyfriend to keep you safe and warm at night. Sometimes, just to keep the peace, you had to pretend to be happy as you settled for a life that wasn't anything close to what you had always dreamed of. It wasn't quite as easy to reach out and make those dreams a reality as Jareth, with his tempting offers, had made it sound.

It wasn't every day she thought about the Goblin King and his demands, but he popped up often enough to mean he was never too far from her thoughts. He was in her head whenever she faced a challenge, whether it was an unexpected confrontation, or a particularly trying day at work. _Or if I'm struggling to come. He's always willing to help out there._

Sarah snorted into her wine. The resulting spray was enough to cover her cheeks and nose, and to send her reeling back against the worktop, cackling with glee. At least the demanding asshole was good for something, even if it _was_ just giving her libido a boost when things were a little too tame in the bedroom for her liking. _I bet_ he _wouldn't be tame in bed – not if those_ ridiculous _pants of his were any inclination. That 'fear me, love me' thing_ was _pretty hot, and as for being my slave …_

Her mind only sank deeper into the gutter the further she dipped into her wine. _Now_ that _is a man who knows how to fuck, if I've ever seen one. Even if he was a twisted, domineering jackhole. My_ god _, he was hot back then._

Before she knew it, she had gulped and giggled her way through most of the bottle, and all of that wine and the warmth it generated didn't do a damned thing to change her mind. _I wonder if he still remembers me, and how I beat him._ She took another long swallow. _I wonder if he still has those fucking_ pants _._

More laughter exploded from her lips; yet more wine was sucked in through them. Every flat surface of her modest kitchen now seemed like the perfect place for the Goblin King to take her across, and the more turned on she got, the harder and faster that _taking_ became within her perverse thoughts. _Ah, Christ, I need to do something about this. I need to do something about it_ now.

She could have called Steve, begging him to come back – begging him to take her to bed. She could have drunk-dialled any of her other exes, in the hope that at least one would be up for some late night, no strings fun, completely out of the blue. She would have hated herself the next morning if she had chosen either of those options, but she wasn't thinking about the future in that moment.

She wasn't thinking at all.

“Hey, Goblin King.” The words rang out loud and proud, even though she could barely stand by that point. “You talked a lot of shit about fear and love back then, but what it all boils down to is that you want me, right? Well, if you want me so much, then why don't you just come and take me? Can't do it, huh? Can't do it when you haven't been called on, huh? Well, what if I even the sc…ore?” She raised a hand to stifle a belch. “I _wish_ for it. You hear me? Sharah Williamsh wishes for the Goblin King to come and take her away, right fuckin' _now_.”

-

 _Tap tap tap_ went his chamber door. “Bugger the fuck _off_ ,” came his resounding roar.

_Tap tap tap._

With a roll of his weary eyes, the Goblin King raised his ale cup to his lips and took another hearty swallow. He had no intention whatsoever of seeing the bottom of said cup that night.

_Tap tap tap._

_Six years_. Six miserable, soul-crushing years, in which he had never once allowed himself the permission, or indeed the privilege, of taking a day off to call his own. Ruling over a kingdom – particularly one as disorderly as the _Goblin_ Kingdom – wasn't the sort of calling that lent itself well to freedom and paid holidays, but to have laboured so long without taking a single personal day to rest was surely madness. No wonder his poor father, proud and conscientious man that he was, had all but turned cartwheels at his son's coronation, so eager was he to pass on the dreaded royal mantle. Jareth had no son of his own to relieve him of his duties and his burden; what he _did_ have in abundance, for that one, precious evening, was ale, and wine, and sweet, honeyed mead. One way or another, the kingdom would just have to run itself while its ruler finally took a little well-earned time out to drink himself stupid.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The door-knocker persisted, hero or fool as they were, and every rap of their determined fist was a jarring blow to his dwindling patience. As the noise continued, the sullen Goblin King heaved himself to his feet and staggered across the room to see which unfortunate goblin had drawn the short straw when it came to interrupting his king's alone time.

The door flew open, and poor Nitpickins practically filled his already filthy undershorts when his king made an unsteady appearance in the entrance to his solar. A leather-clad hand shot across the threshold, and before the little grey goblin knew what was happening, he was up in the air, his scuffed boots kicking out in vain at least four feet above the ground. He could only pray that his king's fist remained clenched around his fraying collar, and not his scrawny neck. King Jareth glared at him through narrowed eyes as he lifted him higher still.

“Did I miss your knighthood ceremony?” Jareth asked.

Nitpickins' tiny, terrified mind held no answer. “M-my … my king?” he chirruped.

“Was I absent when you were dubbed a noble lord of the realm, or even – gods forbid – hailed as the new crown prince?”

The young goblin gulped. Wherever the conversation was going, it wasn't good. “N-n-n-no, my king.”

The Goblin King nodded, having expected no other response. He took another gulp of his drink, eyes still fixed on his prey over the rim of his cup. “I see. So then, tell me why, if you are neither knight, nor lord, nor pr…ince-” He paused in his questioning to stifle a belch against his forearm, the small goblin swinging in his grasp as he did so. “Then why, dear Nitprick, do you consider yourself imporshen … imprort … _special_ enough to completely _ignore_ my command not to be disturbed under _any_ circumstances for the next twenty-six hours? Is the castle by chance on fire? Are there ogres at our gates?”

Poor Nitpickins shook his unkempt head. “N-no, my king … b-but … there is … well … _this_.” Trembling, the goblin thrust a glowing white crystal under his glowering ruler's nose. His squeak as the king released him in favour of snatching up the shining orb was part relief, even as he went tumbling to the hard stone floor below. He scrambled back onto his feet at once, sketching a bow even as he rubbed at his sore bottom. The king had been far too cranky lately to risk just slouching around in front of him. “You told us to come straight to you if the-girl-who-ate-the-peach ever made another wish. You told us to come find you, no matter what, and she did … she _did_ wish!”

Jareth's eyes were fixed only on the crystal, hardly seeing the whimpering goblin beyond it. “How long ago was this?” he demanded.

“Just now, majesty. Nitpickins came to tell you right away, just like he was told!”

“Good … good.” Jareth shoved his cup in the vague direction of the timid creature's voice, and wrapped both of his gloved hands around the crystal. “You did well to come here, but now you may go.”

“Yes, my king. Thanking you kindly, my king.”

Quick to take his cue, the tiny goblin scuttled off as fast as his legs could carry him, hardly able to believe his luck. Not every goblin could call himself fortunate enough to avoid punishment _and_ secure a cup of the king's finest ale, all in the same night. Luckily for little Nitpickins, he was just smart enough to find somewhere far and safe enough from his king's wrath to settle down to drink it.

Jareth scoffed as he gazed into the crystal. He had replayed his Champion's wish more than once, and yet he still couldn't quite believe the woman's gall. For years, she had been content to let him wait and wonder, never allowing him a second chance to crush her strong spirit; years of silence and stalwart stubbornness in which he almost came to despair that she, the one girl who had ever managed to best him, might _never_ be conquered. Years of nothing, and now this … _proposition_. Tempting as it was, there was no challenge – no _worth_ in claiming such a hollow victory. Such a foolish wish, made in a moment of drunken weakness, could _never_ give him the taste of power, of _victory_ over her that he so craved. Given such liberties, he could take her, for his lover or his bride, his prisoner or his unwilling slave, and yet she would never really be his.

It irked him.

It _outraged_ him.

Then, as a warm, sweet surge of inspiration took hold, it made him smile.

“Take you, dear Sarah? _Take_ you? Oh, how I most certainly will.”

How he managed the long walk to his personal library, he would never quite remember. Exactly how many books of curses and dark spells he pored over in his drunken state to find just the right one would forever remain a mystery to him. All the scheming Goblin King knew was that when he finally spoke those ancient words of power, and spilled the token amount of sacrificial blood, Sarah Williams would finally belong to him.

-

Sarah woke the next day with her head full of sand and her mouth full of rocks, or perhaps it was the other way around. _Everything_ hurt. Her stomach felt like it had been tossed about like a volleyball, and her tongue seemed to be held together with nothing but sandpaper and battery acid. _Fuck. Me. Never again._ A demon must have been hiding down at the bottom of that wine bottle, ready to possess the poor soul that drank from it, because the deep, guttural groan that rolled up from her throat was nothing short of unholy.

She was sprawled, face down, in more pillows than she ever remembered owning, and when she finally fought herself free of those, there was an impossibly thick curtain of hair to contend with. _Blonde_ hair. _Did I find someone to take to bed after all? I don't even remember picking up the phone._

A quick scan of the otherwise empty bed told her that wasn't the case, but it also raised a new problem: she didn't know _whose_ bed she was in. A few experimental tugs on those curious golden strands and the responding pain in her scalp revealed that she appeared to be the owner of the blonde hair. _What the hell did I even_ do _last night?_

With great effort, she managed to roll her aching body onto its back, but that immediately brought the uncomfortable sensation of her cock pushing up against the sheets. Her hand was already halfway down her belly to fix that problem when her mind finally caught up, pulling her up short. Slowly, she peeled back the bedcovers to reveal a distinct lack of breasts, more soft, blonde hair, and a morning erection that seemed far too impressive on a woman of her size.

“Oh,” she said, in a deep, rich voice that _definitely_ wasn't hers, but that she remembered far too well. “Oh, _no_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea had been pecking at my head for quite a while, and finally I decided to just go ahead and write it down. Having four fics on the go at once probably isn't the best idea, but I assure you that none of them have or will be abandoned. This is going to be a little bit silly and a little bit sexy, and will be updated as and when I can. Hope you enjoy!


	2. Balls to the wall

He awoke to soft bedcovers which held him in their sweet, warm embrace, and the Goblin King snuggled deeper into their comfort with a sigh. Despite the dull pounding in his head and bitter ashes coating the inside of his mouth, he remained rather cheerful that morning – sprightly, almost – certain that the day ahead would shape out to his satisfaction. After a cursory squeeze of his jaw, his ample chest and diminished crotch, just to be sure, he began to smile. All had gone to plan, and now the soft, feminine body he inhabited was most certainly not his own. What better way to escape from his royal duties than to kick his heels for a day or two within the guise of a young, mortal woman who _had_ no such obligations? His Champion had been vague and inadvertently generous enough to offer up the use of her _whole_ self, after all.

“Silly girl,” he purred, quite enjoying the gentler tone of his new voice, sleep-thickened as it was. He thought it would do the woman some good to spend a short time living with the consequences of such a poorly thought out wish.

Had he let her off too easily? Perhaps. Had he denied himself what might have been _years_ of delicious torment, all at her expense? Certainly, but Jareth was in too good a mood for regrets. He decided he might even treat himself to a full week away from his worries, just enjoying the simple, mortal life Aboveground. Certain liberties would have to be taken with his borrowed body in that time, particularly when it came to dressing and personal hygiene, but nothing half so intrusive as she had already offered to him the night before. He chuckled to himself, and savoured the soft sound of Sarah's laughter. Jareth doubted the poor girl herself was laughing; she was probably too full of panic and confusion to appreciate the privilege of waking up as a king.

He might even have felt a touch of pity for her, had she not brought it all upon herself. Foolish wishes aside, she seemed like a bright enough woman; she would have to figure it out for herself for an hour or two while he caught up on his precious sleep. It wasn't as though she would be able to get up to much trouble in the meantime. Heaving out another soft, contented sigh, he rolled over onto his side – and winced. The pain in his head, courtesy of Sarah's six glasses of cheap wine too many, really had begun to grow bothersome. He knew he would sleep better after ridding the woman's borrowed body of its self-inflicted ills. Grumbling, he closed his eyes, reached out to his inner self, and lay waiting for his magic to take hold.

The seconds ticked by, and yet the ache in his head remained. Eventually, a frown creased his host body's smooth brow. Not only were his healing thoughts refusing to take hold, but the familiar heat which always prickled his skin, even with the smallest use of his powers, was curiously absent. Jareth opened his eyes, his frown deepening when the sick weight pressing between his temples did not dissipate in the slightest. _How odd_. He surveyed what was presumably Sarah's bedroom ceiling for a moment, before he rolled his head to the right to survey his surroundings, wincing again as even that small movement caused ancient and cacophonous machinery to groan to life within his poor brain.

There was a small wooden bedside table, on top of which resided a purple carnival glass lamp, a book whose title he didn't care enough to find out, and a half-empty glass of water. He fixed his gaze on the latter, eyes squinted in concentration. He outstretched a hand to receive it – even readied his dried-out tongue for the drink's cool blessing – but the glass did not so much as wobble at his beckoning. Jareth called the small object to him again, exerting far more effort than it should have taken to levitate the puny vessel into his waiting hand, but it still refused to move. He felt _nothing_ – not that familiar warm tingle; not the deep connection between man and magic that had been with him almost all of his life. There was nothing inside his head but more pain – nothing within the churning pit of his stomach but bile.

Muttering to himself, he managed to drag himself up so he could sit a little more comfortably against the tall headboard behind him, before he reached for the glass again – this time physically. He would take a moment to slake his thirst and refresh this new body before he tried again. His throat _was_ awfully dry …

The glass slipped from his fingers and tumbled to the floor below, water spilling out to soak the thick aubergine-coloured carpet almost black. His throat – his fucking _throat_! Though he already knew what he would find, the now-panicked Goblin King flailed his way free of the bedcovers, one hand clasped to his bare neck, the other searching in vain between his new breasts, both on top of the fabric covering them, and beneath it. “No,” he murmured in Sarah's stolen voice. “No, no, _no_.”

The drinking had definitely been the cause of it. He could think of no other excuse for hurrying into this predicament so woefully unprepared. Jareth's hands continued to pat against his throat and chest, refusing to accept the truth his mind already knew.

In his haste to find the right spell, he had not thought to pass on ownership of his royal pendant – the one, invaluable tool he needed to house and control his magic, even while inhabiting the vessel of a non-magical being. With one lousy, _clumsy_ piece of spellwork, he had given up not only his body, but his powers as well. Which meant that _Sarah_ -

The deafening silence of the room was broken when a grown, naked man came stumbling into it, crashing into existence viciously enough to send his lean form reeling into a heavy old chest of drawers, the various knick-knacks atop it rattling. There was a brief moment of disorientation within Jareth's already troubled mind when he found his own eyes turned on him, full of accusation, and his own voice barking out his name, loud and full of fury.

“God _damn_ it, Jareth! What the hell did you drag me into _this_ time?”

 

-

She was livid.

She was full on, balls to the wall, transcending to whole new and ungodly levels of fury, hell-bent on _murder_ levels of pissed off, right then.

In her rush to hunt down the sadistic bastard who had taken it upon himself to screw up her life for a second time, she was still very naked. _You'd think a king could afford to get himself some pyjamas_ , she thought with a scowl, relieved to see that at least her own stolen body was still partially clothed.

She vaguely remembered having just enough sense and strength to tug on an old, comfortable nightshirt, once she grew certain that a night of passion and seduction definitely wasn't on the cards, in spite of her heartfelt wish. What she _didn't_ remember, however, was giving the imposter currently wearing her skin permission to steal said nightshirt, not to mention her bed, her home, and her life along with it. It was pretty hard to feel shame or embarrassment, even with her new cock hanging free, when she was just so full of fucking rage.

“Care to explain this?” she growled, said cock swinging with the momentum as she gestured a little too wildly at her unwanted body.

 _Well, that's not entirely true, is it, Sarah? You wanted his body well enough last night – you just didn't expect to be_ wearing _the damn thing._ She shoved the decidedly unhelpful thought aside as she awaited Jareth's answer.

It was a little alarming to come face to face with her own bewildered expression, and hear her own voice striving for just the right note of calm and falling a shade short. She had never – _never_ – heard the Goblin King less than sure of himself, even back in his labyrinth as he had begged for her obedience. Something was wrong – maybe on some even deeper level than the complete clusterfuck of a situation that she was already struggling to process.

“Why, Sarah, after the wish you made for me to _take_ you, I should have thought that was obvious.”

“Oh, cut the crap. I didn't want this. I don't even know why _you_ would want something like this, unless it's all part of some weird fetish of yours that I definitely do _not_ need to hear about. Change us back.”

Even though years had passed since she had last seen it, even though it dawned on _her_ lips, rather than his, that wicked, _wolfish_ smile of his was exactly as she remembered it. _There_ was the Goblin King she had known. _There_ was the man she dreamed of and dreaded in not quite equal amounts. Now that he had recovered from her abrupt arrival, and been give the perfect chance to drive her insane in the bargain, all his other concerns seemed perfectly willing to take a back seat.

“And deny you that wish?” he drawled in her voice. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

 _Oh, and here comes the embarrassment._ Sarah felt herself shiver, victim to the strange sensation of being leered at by her own treacherous pair of eyes. Even while she was wearing _his_ body, he still managed to make her feel far too exposed. It took some effort to remain standing tall – though the extra few inches of height still took some getting used to – rather than shying away with her arms crossed over herself. Or _him_ self. She hadn't quite managed to figure that aspect out yet, and the raging hangover she was suffering with didn't help matters.

“You know as well as I do that this isn't what I wished for,” she hissed, startled by the venom she managed to inject into the blond bastard's deep voice.

“Isn't it?” He stared back at her, and Sarah had to admit, the sheer amount of attitude the man managed to convey with a single raised eyebrow, even her own, was pretty impressive. “You did so want for me to take you, didn't you, Sarah? You wanted nothing more in your … shall we say, _eager_ state, than for me to have my way with your body.” He made an infuriating show of lifting up each of her arms in turn, wrists dangling limp and puppet-like, eyeing her like a snake as he made her head nod from side to side. “I'd say you got just what you asked for.”

Her throat stuttered and stalled for what felt like a lifetime before she managed to put real words to her rage. “You are just so … fucking … _twisted!_ It's like you take some sick pleasure in taking whatever I say and turning it back on me to cause as much damage as you possibly can! Don't you have anything better to do than torment people in this world, or am I just a special case you like to pick on? You are _so_ out of line right now, it's unreal. Oh – _oh_! And don't you _dare_ roll my eyes at me!”

The Goblin King sighed and pushed his – _her_ – dark hair back from his face, the casualness of such a simple gesture enough to boil her blood. “I take you at your word and give you the things you ask for, and you see me as unreasonable. Yet if I dare to _deny_ you anything, you make me out to be a monster. You're quite tiresome in all your indecision and conflicting desires, do you know that?”

“ _I'm_ tiresome? Look who's talking!” Admittedly, the comeback lost some of its bite when it was directed at herself. Another silent quirk of his – _her_ – eyebrow said the fact wasn't lost on him, either. _I'm really going to have to learn how to pull that look off when this is over._ At least her brain remained somewhat optimistic that it would, eventually, be over. “What possible benefit could you get out of running around with my face on anyway? If you're looking for a ladies' night, if you're so desperate for discounted drinks, I think I know a couple of dive bars I could point you to.”

Jareth made her eyebrows lift in mock surprise. “Well, of course I _could_ take you up on your kind offer – though I'll admit, I'm a little taken aback that you'd trust me with this body around yet more alcohol. Who knows what kind of shameful things it could get upto?”

Sarah could feel her cheeks growing hot. She hadn't even thought that the unflappable Goblin King was _capable_ of blushing. “Is that a threat? Because if it is, know that I won't need _any_ liquid motivation to screw up _your_ life the same way you seem to love messing up mine. Don't you try me. While you're out drinking, and flashing total strangers, and getting arrested, I'll be too busy declaring war with the … with the fucking elf kingdom to care … or maybe even abdicating your throne. I mean it.”

His eyes closed as he nodded, the faintest of smiles playing across his lips. “Well played,” he admitted, “if a tad extreme. As you value your dignity so highly, perhaps it would be beneficial to us both to declare a truce while we each remain in the other's body.”

She shook her head, Jareth's golden locks swinging about her cheeks. “I don't want a truce, I just want you to change us back.”

The Goblin King tipped his chin back, his eyes slow to open as he rested against her headboard. Even lounged in her bed, he still managed to look down his nose at her. “I suppose I might be persuaded to do that. You do seem to have shown regret and learned your lesson far more quickly than I anticipated.” He folded his arms across his chest, and Sarah tried not to bristle at just how close his hands came to touching her breasts. “I will, of course, need one further thing from you – a gesture of apology for wasting my valuable time.”

Sarah fought against rolling her eyes. “What? What do you need?”

Jareth appeared to consider her question for a moment, his head tilting, birdlike, to one side as he sized her up. His left forearm actually _did_ appear to graze her breast as he reached up to rub at her mouth. “Hmm … what to do, what to do?” He left her glowering at him for what was at least half an eternity before he spoke up again. “Well there is … that.”

 _Don't look now, Sarah, but the man appears to be pointing at your penis_. “Uh, _excuse_ me?”

He scoffed and tossed his head. “Not that, you gutter-minded woman – _that_.”

She followed his gaze more carefully to where her fist rested by her side, the Goblin King's heavy silver pendant hanging from it. Being angry enough to tear it from its place around her throat was still a blur, as was most of her panicked time trapped within an unfamiliar bedroom and a much too familiar body. In the grand scheme of things, a broken piece of jewellery seemed like such an insignificant matter. She raised the pendant and its broken chain up, noting the way Jareth's eyes followed the strange charm. “This?” she asked, making it sway gently. Jareth's gaze was totally fixed on the motion. “I don't see why you'd even want it. I mean, I know it's yours and all, but you'll have it back the second we swap places, right? Then you can fix it, good as new.”

“Be that as it may, I'd still appreciate its return now. It does have some … I suppose you'd call it sentimental value.”

The words were spoken casually enough, but Sarah wasn't fooled. She swung the necklace with a little more force, watching the way his eyes ticked back and forth. Something was definitely going on. “Uh-huh,” she said, aiming for that same, light, airy tone. “You'll get it back, don't worry. I'd just prefer it if you switched us back first.”

The Goblin King sighed. “Sarah-”

“-unless you can't, obviously.” The swinging pendulum slowed. “Oh, god, that's it, isn't it? You want it back because that's what gives you your magic. That's how I managed to think my way here – I have your powers. I'm the one who has all your magic.” Only when Jareth's stare turned sour did the true severity of the situation dawn on her. “That … wasn't supposed to happen, was it?” she demanded, taking a single step closer to the woman in her bed. “Not only did you manage to steal my face and my body, but you managed to totally fuck up the process too? Are you even serious right now?”

Jareth scrubbed at his face, finally giving up the charade. “As much as it shames me to admit it, you weren't the only one drinking last night. I … may have made a minor error.”

“You were drinki …” Sarah shook her head in disbelief. “You were fucking _drunk_ when you decided to play with magic? Oh, for the love of …” She glared down at the necklace she held, squeezing the chain all the tighter. “Okay, I see how it is. I _also_ see that I can't trust you in the slightest. After all, what's to say you won't mess things up again, or just go on merrily playing around in my body when I give you back the rights to your powers? No, Jareth, that is most definitely _not_ going to happen. I guess that means we're just going to have to do things my way.”

 


	3. Where are the clothes?

“See, what did I tell you? Underground, safe and sound, just like I promised. I _knew_ I'd be able to get us both back here if I tried enough times.” She made Jareth's mouth turn up into a beaming smile. “Less than an hour in your body, and I've already got this whole magic thing mastered. You've got to admit, that takes _skill_.”

“Sheer bloody luck, more like it,” Jareth grumbled. He was tempted to give himself another pat-down to ensure his borrowed body was still in one piece, but he didn't think Sarah would appreciate watching him leisurely frisk her person. She was already turning out to be a little too trigger-happy when it came to using his powers against him, and given the delectable contours of his new form, he couldn't deny that his hands might be tempted to wander a little. He stood with those hands clasped before him, at his demure best in the jersey dress and leggings Sarah had cast onto him, resisting the urge to claw at the medieval torture implement she called a brassiere. Such bountiful breasts as he now possessed were simply not made to be caged. It was nothing short of a calamity.

Discomfort aside, he was sure to keep one eye on Sarah, and on his stolen pendant, but the impertinent thief of a woman had already proven shrewd enough to mend the broken chain and secure it about her neck. His only real chance at getting close enough to steal it back would be in seducing her, which would prove a little difficult, given that she was already familiar with all the delights his new feminine form had to offer. It was a sad, wretched thought to realise that the breasts he itched to get his hands on, in one way or another, might not be quite so appealing and arousing to their original owner. Still, that wasn't to say Sarah wasn't above a little curiosity when it came to experimenting …

“Whatever you're scheming, Jareth, you can knock it off right now. Don't think I don't know what I look like when I'm thinking of screwing someone over.”

 _Little do you know_ , the Goblin King thought, scowling as he was drawn so rudely from his lewd thoughts. He raised his dark brows and spread his hands in a show of innocence – one which he was certain she would see right through. “No schemes – simply a little vexation at being kept in the dark all morning. Now that we're finally here, are you going to enlighten me on what this brilliant plan of yours actually entails?” He kept the come-hither pouting to a minimum as his own suspicious eyes came to narrow at him from across the room.

“Right … Well, the plan's pretty simple. First, we get hold of whichever spellbook you used last night, and you show me the right spell to reverse all of this. I check it over to make sure it's legit, and that there aren't any hidden pitfalls I should be wary of. Provided everything's on the up and up, I'll change us back into our regular bodies. Then, and _only_ then, you'll get your necklace back, and I'll get to go home and work out how to permanently erase the words 'I wish' from my vocabulary. Sound good?”

“Positively delightful,” Jareth drawled. “Shall we get started?”

“Oh, do _let's_ ,” Sarah replied, with a mocking smile in his direction. The smile slowly disappeared as she cast her eyes about his bedchamber. “All right, so … where _is_ the spellbook, exactly?”

Jareth folded his arms tightly beneath his breasts. “It's in the library, where most books tend to reside.”

“Great.” Unmoved, Sarah mimicked the petulant pose, her forearms resting only a matter of inches away from the precious pendant he so needed. “So, where's the library?”

“Before I lead you there, aren't you forgetting something?” When she only looked at him, Jareth gave a pointed nod towards her groin. “ _You_ may have no qualms about strolling around in the nude in _my_ body, but I certainly do. At least give me some dignity before my subjects.”

“Oh, right.” She had managed to get so wrapped up in flaunting her new powers, she had totally forgotten her current, undressed state. She glanced down at herself before thinking the consequences through, feeling immediate heat blossoming in her cheeks as her eyes raked over her toned chest and belly, and the delicious v cut of her hips. Her eyes snapped back to Jareth's before she could sink any lower. “Okay, so, uh … where are the clothes?”

She quickly headed in the direction his finger pointed her in, blushing all the harder under the weight of his knowing stare. He had caught her looking, but he didn't need to know how much she _liked_ all that she had seen. She flung open a tall wooden armoire and scanned the available options, and soon decided on black pants, a simple, crimson-coloured tunic, and a pair of black leather ankle boots to dress herself in. More magic would definitely be required, as she didn't think she could handle … well, _handling_ her new body, on top of just ogling it. “Turn around,” she called back over her shoulder, and heard his incredulous huff.

“Sarah. On my own body, which I've become rather familiar with over the past few decades … what _exactly_ are you hoping for me not to see?”

The man had a point. Still, she kept her back to him while she figured out how to magic the clothes onto her body, hyper aware that she was providing him with a rear view that she had yet to fully appreciate. Finally, dressed and a little less warm in the face, she turned around to present herself. His eyes flicked over her in brisk approval.

“Fine. Now, as I'm expected in a meeting this afternoon, I'd suggest we don't linger too long in the hallways. Should anyone challenge you, a firmly-spoken 'I haven't the patience for this,' or 'Out of my way,' should suffice. I doubt that anyone will persist in speaking to you after that, but …” He frowned. The way the woman was shuffling and squirming on the spot was distracting, luring him from his train of thought. “ _Should_ anyone persist, you'll tell them that the Bog of Eternal Stench is eager for new visitors, and keep walking. That ought to silence even that wretched little Hogwoggle, if he tries to cause trouble. Now, if we should come across a particularly amorous rooster, who makes a beeline for your leg, you have to-” He sighed, realising she wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to him. “Sarah, what did I just say?”

“Huh?” She paused in her fidgeting, but only for a moment. “Oh, uh … something about bees?”

“Indeed. Well, if you want to make it to the library any time soon, try to pay more attention,” he said, with a glare. “And would you _stop_ dancing up and down? Gaia's sake, woman, anyone would think you've got some kind of communicable skin disease.”

She shot him a sour look, even as she continued to jerk and twitch before him. “I can't help it, it's just … ugh, it's your fucking body, okay? I just … can't … get … _comfortable_.”

He opened his mouth to rebuke her for complaining about such ridiculous things – especially considering how long he'd suffered in silence in her underwear – but when she rolled her hips and bent her knees a little to seek relief, he saw exactly what the problem was. “Ah. Little to the left, love,” he instructed, waving a hand at her. Despite his helpful advice, she refused to catch on. He all but threw his hands up in despair when the infuriating woman frowned at him and took an uncertain sideways step. “ _No_. The _left_ , Sarah. To. The. _Left_.”

Her eyebrows knit together into an even deeper look of displeasure. “That _was_ my left, genius, or are directions as messed up here as time and gravity are?”

Jareth sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. It didn't feel half as pleasurable on a different body to the one he was accustomed to. “What I mean is, I _dress_ to the left, Sarah. Certain articles of clothing require it to avoid … discomfort.” When she still proved a little too slow to catch on for his taste, he rolled his eyes and just made a lunge for her. “Oh, for _fu_ … come _here_.”

“Hey … _hey!_ You get your hand out of there before I cut it off! That is _not_ yours to touch right now, so quit it with the manhandling. You know I can feel everything in this body, right? Jesus!”

The Goblin King scowled, rubbing at the fingers she had swatted so fiercely. “Well, forgive me for trying to help, since you didn't seem to have a clue how to handle things yourself.”

“I can _handle_ my own dick, thank you very much! Though to be totally honest, I'm a little scared to even touch it right now, seeing as it took at least ten minutes to get the thing to … to _deflate_ the last time it decided to get a little happy and reposition _itself_. And before you ask, it was already like that when I woke up. God, no wonder you managed to do something this stupid, with all of your blood constantly rushing south to fill _that_ thing up, instead of your brain!”

Jareth smiled in spite of himself. “I'll choose to take that as a compliment.”

Sarah growled. “Oh, you _would_. Never mind the mess we're in. Never mind trying to get out of it. Let's just turn this into a big ol' dick measuring contest, shall we? Well, if you think I'm swinging the weight of this thing around long enough for you to find some measuring tape, you've got another thing coming.”

A gentle creak stopped his retort, and the two of them whirled their heads to find the source of the sound. A very confused, very _pale_ goblin stood in the room's open doorway, a silver breakfast tray in his shaking hands. The goblin's wary eyes moved between the pair of them, and very slowly, as if he were afraid that even the tiniest movement might draw their combined wrath, he licked his scaly lips. “P … P-p-p-puh,” he managed to say.

“ _Spit it_ _out_ ,” both Goblin Kings demanded, almost in unison.

The goblin jumped, the tray rattling ominously in his grasp. “Puh-puh-puh-Persnikkety will come back later,” he told them, and fetched a nervous bow so deep, the tray's centrepiece – a sturdy metal cafetiere – bowed with him. Steaming hot coffee sloshed over the tray and onto his tiny fingers, and with a shriek of pain, the little goblin let it go. Dishes shattered and crockery jangled against the stone tiles below, milk and honey and porridge raining chaos down all around his feet.

His eyes wide with terror, Persnikkety took one look at the mess, one look at his glowering king and his angry lady friend, and noped the fuck out of there.

Jareth sighed and pinched his nose again. Sarah followed suit. It seemed to feel a little more satisfying in her new body than it ever had in her own.

“So … the library?” she suggested.

“The library,” Jareth agreed.

He stepped over the mess in the doorway, and Sarah, hitching up Jareth's skin-tight pants and cursing all things goblin, Goblin King, and Goblin King cock shaped, went after him.

 

 


	4. A little curious

Jareth bit down on his lip and choked back the urge to scream. If his horror had him channelling a screeching hell fiend of a banshee, then Sarah had clearly honed in on one of the three Furies as her capricious creature of choice.

“I'm sorry,” she said, in a cold, hard tone which already promised vengeance. “I could have _sworn_ you just said something crazy there – something about the book we need not being here after all.”

“It's here. Of course it's here,” he snapped back at her. It took some effort to cast his gaze about the utter ruin of his library one more time – to remain hopeful, rather than burying his head in his hands. “It's just not … well … _here_.”

“Well, gee, that's helpful, and wasn't totally obvious after already checking every last shelf at least three fucking times. Mind telling me where it _is_ , then, rather than dragging me to more places where it _isn't?”_

Jareth only clucked his tongue. The woman's ballsy attitude was getting a little tiresome, no less so than he remembered it to be when she was still just a teen, and yet now he found he shared in her frustration. Given a little longer to glower and pout within her body, he might even have been tempted to whine and declare the entire situation unfair. The two of them had all but torn the entire library apart in their search, shifting shelves and peering into the dark, dusty crevices behind them, and all for nothing.

He knew he wasn't to blame. The book _had_ been there; hazy though his memories of the evening before still were, he was certain he hadn't taken it elsewhere after completing the spell. Unfortunately, given the castle's sheer number of occupants, not to mention the unwashed masses who came traipsing in from the Goblin City to take full advantage of their king's hospitality, that left him with an excess of three hundred potential culprits. In that moment, he could have cursed himself for insisting on such foolish things as proper schooling for his subjects; goblins were enough trouble without the added dangers of teaching them how to read. Informing Sarah of that fact might not have been the wisest choice, given her volatile mood, but the ugly truth was all he had.

“In all honesty, I don't know where it is, exactly. It must have been borrowed, but wherever it is, it can't have gotten far.” He neglected to inform his testy companion that if the book had been borrowed, for whatever ridiculous reason, the likelihood of getting it back in one piece, unchewed and free of senseless scribble, and food or far worse stains, was relatively slim. He took a moment to gather his patience and fraying nerves, while Sarah huffed and knocked over a pile of books with the tip of his own boot. Even as worried about the consequences and his own neck as he was, Jareth had time to hope she hadn't scuffed the leather. “Well, it's no use whining about it,” he declared, while he toed another pile out of her immediate reach as discreetly as he could manage. “What's done is done, and we'll just have to live with it until the book's found.”

Gods, the _look_ the woman threw him! He didn't think even his most useless goblin had ever been subjected to such a cold and withering glare. Jareth half expected to see frost dusting his own pale lashes as he met that stare. “Live with it, Jareth? _Live_ … with _it_? By which you mean _live_ with the fact that I no longer have control over my own body? Oh, is that all you want me to do right now?”

A small ray of hope began to shine through all of his misgivings. Necklace or no, _magic_ or no, it was starting to look like he would get his unscheduled break from ruling after all. “Well, that does seem to be our only option at the moment. It's not as though we can both put our lives on hold, is it? I suppose we'll just have to muddle through, somehow – me living Aboveground, and you acting as figurehead here in my absence. Of course, we'll get some of my best goblins on the hunt for the book in the meantime, as an utmost priority.”

Despite all of his reassurances, her bitter blue stare remained positively glacial. “You expect me to entrust something this serious to a bunch of goblins?”

“That's a little speciesist,” he quipped, regretting the words at once as the atmosphere in the room reached sub-zero temperatures. It was quite unsettling to find oneself falling victim to one's own murderous stare.

“Allow me to rephrase: you really expect me to smile and play king, while you run around unchecked in my world, and delegate something as important as changing us back into our real bodies to your fucking minions? The same minions who couldn't even keep a teenage girl and her friends from invading their almighty ruler's castle?”

Jareth gave a rather sheepish roll of his eyes, and attempted to conjure a cigarette that never came. “If it helps to reassure you, I've done a little downsizing since back then, clearing out the riff-raff in my ranks and all that.”

Never before had she wanted to punch herself in the face so badly. Just looking at him made her knuckles itch. “No, Jareth, I can't say that helps – _at all_.” It came as some tiny, pitiful comfort to realise she wasn't the only one starting to get a little anxious. Jareth might have _sounded_ calm when he talked about just muddling through, but the constant twitch and curl of his fingers was rather telling. “Ugh, just use the ring to calm you down,” she told him at last. “Yeah, the one that's on your pinkie finger. I always twist that thing around when I'm flustered and I don't know what to do with my hands.” She almost sighed in relief when, after a doubtful glance at the ring in question, Jareth complied. “Thank Christ. You were starting to get _me_ feeling jittery over here – not that I wasn't already.”

The Goblin King muttered his thanks. The ring on Sarah's right hand was a cheap and unappealing thing, made of plastic rather than metal, but it did feel somewhat soothing to toy with. It irked him that he had been so easy to read. “I suppose we'll be sharing all sorts of helpful tips like that over the coming days,” he muttered.

“Days? Try _hours_. I want out of this body as soon as possible, Jareth, so let's do what we've got to do to make that happen. Show me how to summon your goblins, and point out the right ones for the job.”

So, on that joyous Sunday morning, it came to pass that King Sarah, first of her name, responsible taxpayer and all around upstanding citizen of the Aboveground, and substitute ruler of the Underground, held her first court. She held it with an awkward perch on Jareth's throne, and with Jareth himself standing and sulking in near silence beside her, but she held it nonetheless. The goblins she called before her seemed convinced enough by her scowling visage not to question the sometimes meandering path of her words.

“So, in conclusion,” she said, forcing a darker scowl, and continuing to ape the imperious king she remembered, “you are to tell no one of your task, and report back immediately to me when you find the book's whereabouts. Need I remind you, failure is not an option, and failure to move _quickly_ will only make things worse for you. Finding that book is to be your number one priority, above such frivolous things as food and sleep, or else trying to wash the stench of the Bog out of your miserable hides will be.” By her side, she heard Jareth murmur in approval, and fought the sudden urge to laugh. _At least I'm doing a good job so far._ “Get to work, all of you,” she commanded.

The summoned few bowed to their king and his feisty female companion – Kerfuffel would later swear it was the-girl-who-ate-the-peach-but-beat-the-king from long ago, but Skeedaddle didn't believe him – and began their hunt for the precious book. It was hard to understand why their ruler had gotten his royal knickers in a twist over just one book, especially one that didn't have any pictures, but no one in their right goblin mind would dare speak up and say so. There were rewards in store for the goblin smart enough to track down that book, and a bogwater bath for those stupid enough to waste time asking questions. The pack of goblins broke apart to scour the castle, with Poppicock declaring for all to hear that he would be the one to find the book and win the king's gratitude, with no thought for the rule he had already broken. Only little Nitpickins hung back, staring at the closed door to the throne room, and wincing at the sound of the king and his lady bickering behind it.

“So that's it, then? We're just going to pretend everything's all hunky dory in front of them? You wouldn't even let me tell them _why_ finding that particular book was so important.”

“And have them discover your true identity? Please, Sarah. The moment they find out their king isn't actually their king, and that I have no magic to punish them with, is the moment we lose all control over them. Considering you're going to be living here for the foreseeable future, is that really something you want?”

Hunched over on her unwanted throne, Sarah rested her elbows on her knees and put her head in her hands, letting out a muffled groan. "I just want my life to be normal. I want you gone from it, and I want to wake up in my own bed and realise this was all just part of some vivid nightmare I was having. Why couldn't you have granted _that_ fucking wish instead?"  
  
Jareth frowned down at her, appalled at his own body's posture. With her eyes covered, Sarah wouldn't see him in time if he made a grab for the pendant, but the way she was slouched over meant he was denied a clear shot at it. He sighed and deemed the risk too great for a highly unlikely reward. "When you cease to make such foolish wishes, _then_ you can criticise my actions."  
  
She raised her head to glare at him once more. "And going through with this when you were drunk wasn't even a little stupid? I'm not the idiot who decided it would be a good idea." She scrubbed at her face, feeling yet more despair at all those unfamiliar lines and angles beneath her fingertips. "Christ, Jareth, I was drunk and horny. I wanted you to fuck me, not totally screw me like this."  
  
Her words and the sweet image they painted caused a hot little throb in what he assumed was his new clitoris. _Well, hello._ It blossomed into a deep, tingling heat that began between his thighs but quickly spread its undeniably delicious touch elsewhere, conveying lust and longing throughout his whole body. It was a different sort of arousal, slowly spreading its warmth, rather than the sudden surge of electricity he was used to, and it felt positively decadent. A smile spread across his rather pretty face, and he reached out to rest a hand on Sarah's back in a show of comfort and solidarity. Ever so carefully, he allowed his gentle touch to creep higher, fingers forging onward towards the sensitive spot he knew existed at the very base of his nape.

“That needn't be a wish that goes unfulfilled,” he said, his tone as light and playful as the press of his fingers. “Or a desire neglected. Once this is over … or perhaps even while it endures …”

Sarah scoffed and jerked away from him, turning her head to eye her stolen body in disbelief. “Are you seriously coming on to me right now? While I look like _this_? God, you really are the biggest narcissist I know.”

He took the insult in his stride, giving voice to a chuckle almost as rich and dark as it would have been in his own deeper register. “Come now, you can't tell me you're not at least a little curious what it would feel like.”

 _Keep on talking in_ that _tone, and you're going to see_ exactly _how 'curious' I am._ She was far too aware of the warm, masculine weight resting against her left thigh, and just how little her choice in tight clothing would do to conceal it. “Maybe I am,” she admitted. “A teeny, tiny bit, but that doesn't mean it's the right thing to do.” His hand had found its way back to her by then, and the gentle scratch of his fingernails had begun to do something way too interesting to the nape of her neck. It felt incredible, and she couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to have his lips grazing that tender spot instead. “Uhn,” she heard herself sigh.

“Perhaps not, but it would most certainly be the _fun_ thing to do. I have to confess, I rather fancy the thought of you straddling my lap, right here on my throne. What would it feel like, I wonder, to be the one doing the straddling?”

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and regretted it; she could already see it in her mind's eye, and feel it, sparking an impossible need between her thighs. “Yeah, well keep wondering,” she grumbled, crossing one leg over the other to save her the shame of having to adjust herself in her breeches. “Because even if I _did_ have the twisted urge to fuck myself, I still hate you right now.”

Soft laughter warmed the side of her neck. “You don't have to like me, Sarah.” He lifted the soft golden curtain of her hair, leaning down to brush his lips across the outer shell of her ear. “You just have to want to be inside me. _Do_ you want that, love? Would you like to feel for yourself just how hot, and tight, and enticingly wet you are, right now? Aren't you curious what it would feel like if I just slid on over into your lap, and-”

A tiny groan she was _certain_ he had to have heard rumbled in her throat, before she managed to push him away. “What I want is for you to quit buzzing around my ear like some sex-starved mosquito, and actually _focus_.” She grit her teeth as Jareth laughed in her voice.

“Have it your way. I just thought we might both benefit from a little casual pleasure before we get down to business. It's going to take quite a bit of work, I imagine, for us to cover for one another convincingly.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” she flung at him, still mildly unsettled by his words and the feel of his fingers and those fucking lips – _her_ fucking lips.

“Mine, admittedly, though believe me, I never intended for the book to go missing and cause us this extra trouble.”

“Oh, spare me,” Sarah grunted. “So long as you had your magic to stay in control, you wouldn't have cared _what_ happened to the book, or to me.”

“Nonsense,” he said, giving her arm a reassuring pat. “I happen to have a vested interest in what happens to you while you're wearing my body.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Colour me surprised that the only thing you care about is your own worthless skin,” she muttered, sinking back down into a slouch.

Jareth tilted his head closer and cupped a hand behind his ear, his cheery tone as false as the smile on his lips. “What was that, sweetness?”

“Nothing,” she sighed. “Well, I guess we should start figuring out how to be each other, temporarily. Maybe we should each think about taking notes.”

The Goblin King nodded and rubbed his hands together. “I'm happy to make a start. Perhaps we could even have a little brunch while we compare lives. My personal chef makes the most wonderful-” He caught the wrathful spark in Sarah's eye, and the one she willed to life within the palm of one hand. She turned to face him, one arrogant eyebrow raised as a shimmering orb of fire made a menacing pass back and forth between her fingers. “Then again, perhaps not,” he conceded.

 


End file.
